Parallel Roads

by Mel Teshco

  Jessie reeled, his thoughts scattering in synch to his racing heartbeat. Tara wasn’t only his wife in this dimension—she was pregnant with his child too. He struggled to contain a grin. Everything he wanted really was right here.

  Everything but my sister alive and well.

  Tara bit into her bottom lip, her face flushing as she looked sidewards at him. ‘You’re probably right, Beatrice.’

  Jessie sobered. Tara knew about the pregnancy thing in this dimension? Why had she kept it from him?

  The housekeeper unplugged the vacuum cleaner and retracted the power cable. ‘Anyway, I’ve finished my work here.’ She turned to Tara. ‘I’ll put on a pot of chicken soup to help settle your stomach, then I’ll leave you two lovelies alone until dinner.’

  Jessie nodded. ‘Thanks, Beatrice.’

  When the housekeeper bustled out, Tara turned to him and said quietly, ‘I wanted to tell you about the whole pregnancy thing … but not until we were in the privacy of your home.’

  He spread out his hands. ‘So here we are … in my home. Our home,’ he corrected.

  Hurt flashed behind her eyes. ‘Are you already feeling suffocated by us being married in your “other” life?’

  He stepped close, hating that his remark had cut so deep. ‘Actually, quite the opposite,’ he admitted. ‘In this dimension it seems Jessie has everything I want.’

  Her stare softened. ‘Except your sister.’

  ‘Except Lolita,’ he echoed.

  She took his hand with a little sigh. ‘C’mon. It’s been a big day. Let’s share a shower and grab something to eat.’

  He chuckled as he followed her out the door. ‘You mean other than chicken soup?’

  Only once they’d traversed upstairs, and peeled their clothes off as they walked through his bedroom and into the ensuite shower, did Jessie gently tug Tara towards him from behind, her spine against his chest and his hands spread over her belly.

  She turned on the shower with a laugh that merged into a sharp gasp as he nuzzled her throat, licking away the moisture. Then he murmured into her ear, ‘It’s possible you’re carrying our baby right now.’

  She stiffened for a second or two, and then wilted against him. ‘I know. We were careless after our first time together.’

  His fingertips gently brushed her soft skin near her navel. ‘Would you be upset if you were pregnant?’

  She turned in his arms and looked up, her hair darkening with water and her face never more serious. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ he breathed. ‘I’d be the happiest man alive.’

  Her eyes lit up from within. ‘I’m so glad,’ she whispered, then stood on tiptoes to press her mouth over his, her arms twining over his shoulders.

  He groaned, his already hard cock hardening further still. Without breaking their kiss, he lifted her against the tiles. The shower drummed over them as her legs clasped around him and he manoeuvred her into position. She giggled when his thrust met thin air, his growl of disbelief echoing in the stall.

  Then one of her hands closed around his shaft and she guided him between her folds. He pushed into her, balls-deep, and he closed his eyes for a moment with a hiss of breath.

  Heaven.

  He began to rock inside her with long, deep strokes and her head fell back and her lashes fluttered. With his every thrust she gasped delight, her breasts quivering and her nipples tight little buds. Jessie knew he wouldn’t last, not this time. He was right. He plunged deep one more time before his seed erupted into her and he was hollering out her name.

  Tara blinked up at him, before she uncrossed her legs from behind him and gained her feet. Jessie bent and kissed her once more; slow, thorough and possessive.

  When he pulled back, his stare locked onto hers. ‘I didn’t give you an orgasm.’

  Her smile was languorous. ‘I have faith in you, Jessie.’

  His traitorous cock kicked into life again. He ignored it. Instead he flipped off the shower’s stream of water and stepped out of the stall. Tara followed him and he grabbed a towel and turned to her.

  She stood still as he began to dry her off, towelling her hair in a circular, massaging motion before rubbing down her shoulders and her spine. ‘Turn around,’ he said hoarsely.

  She did as he asked and he took his time massaging the moisture from her breasts. He drew the towel lower, drying her belly and her mound before he passed one end of the towel between her legs. He moved behind her and murmured in her ear, ‘Are you ready?’

  She swallowed audibly in the thick silence of the steamy bathroom. ‘Yes.’

  Only then did he start up a back and forth sawing motion that had her clutch behind at him with one arm, her breaths drawing in and out louder and louder, before she was whimpering for relief.

  He sped up the sawing motion, ensuring the friction ground along her tight little clit. Only once he’d taken her close to the edge did he drop the towel and relieve her needs with his hand, massaging her until she abruptly shuddered and cried out, her legs buckling.

  Jessie drew her close, holding her until she subsided against him with her breathing slowly returning to normal.

  ‘Better now?’ he murmured.

  She nodded weakly and he wrapped another towel around her, then one around his hips, before leading her into the bedroom.

  A bowl of the promised chicken soup awaited Tara on a tray at the end of the bed. Tara’s eyes widened. ‘Your housekeeper is the quickest soup maker ever.’

  Jessie smiled. ‘I have no doubt she had a batch in the freezer already made up.’

  He sat on the bed, then tapped the mattress to indicate she sit beside him. ‘You’d better eat this just to keep Beatrice happy.’ He reached for the tray and dipped a spoon into the soup. ‘Allow me.’

  She sunk onto the mattress and tried not to laugh as she opened her mouth in mock obedience. ‘Maybe I should be sick more often.’

  He fed her and said, ‘I told you I’d make things up to you however I could.’

  She turned the next spoonful around and pushed it into his mouth. ‘It goes both ways.’

  By the time the bowl was empty they’d both eaten enough to at least partly fill the hole in their bellies. He placed the tray and empty bowl onto the floor before they lolled back onto the bed.

  They moved naked into each other’s arms, but this once they didn’t make love. She seemed happy just to cuddle and to doze on and off, and he wasn’t about to complain. With her skin soft beneath his and her lavender fragrance tantalising his nostrils, he wondered if he’d ever been so content.

  He must have fallen deeply asleep at some point, because he came to with a start when Tara gently shook him awake. He blinked against the fading light, and at seeing the shadows were already growing long in the room. He glanced at the bedside alarm clock. Just after five pm. He forced himself awake. ‘I must have really needed that sleep,’ he said thickly.

  Tara nodded. ‘That’s why I didn’t wake you until now.’

  He sat, wiping a hand over his still sleepy eyes before taking in the woman before him. Holy smokes. Tara was sex on a stick.

  A lightweight cream pantsuit that screamed designer wear skimmed her figure and flattered her curves. A glittery clasp held her hair off her neck, drawing the eye to the touch of bright orange on her full lips and the faint bronze on her delicate cheeks.

  At his stare she swept a self-conscious glance downwards and said, ‘This was just one of the many outfits I found in the huge robe we share here.’

  ‘You’re beautiful.’

  One of her hands lifted, then fell. ‘In my world I could never afford clothes like these.’

  He pushed onto his knees on the mattress and reached for her hands. ‘In my world I’d give you all the clothes you wanted and more.’

  If you’ll let me.

  She nodded slowly, her stare fastened on his while probably a thousand thoughts raced through her mind. ‘I believe you really would, at least once all this dime
nsional stuff is behind us and your sister is safe.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The landline phone chimed loudly downstairs, breaking the moment. He heard Beatrice’s voice but couldn’t make out her words. The next moment footsteps sounded on the stairs before the housekeeper appeared in the doorway with the cordless phone in hand.

  She raised her eyebrows, but it seemed far less on seeing Jessie naked and more an apology for whoever was on the line. ‘It’s your father again.’

  ‘My father?’ he repeated numbly.

  Beatrice nodded and Tara squeezed his hands before gently tugging free. The housekeeper stepped into the bedroom and handed him the phone, before nodding and waiting discreetly in the doorway.

  Jessie lifted the phone to his ear. ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yeah, hi son. Ah, look, sorry to be ringing you so soon again after the last time.’

  ‘The last time?’

  His father’s breath whooshed out harshly. ‘What? You want a dollar for every time I break a promise not to gamble?’ His laugh was grating and bitter with irony. ‘I’d give it to you too, except if that were true I guess I wouldn’t need your money.’

  Jessie’s throat tightened even while he tried not to give into the emotions pulling at him every which way. His father was a goddamn gambler.

  When he could find his voice again, it came out in a croak. ‘How much did you lose?’

  His father’s tone turned jeering. ‘Like you don’t already know? What is going on, Jessie, are you trying to rub in my latest failure?’ His jeering dropped into a sullen whine. ‘Missy Stormkeeper was a sure bet, I was bloody unlucky she lost her race.’

  So his father was spending money that wasn’t even his own at the races. Somehow Jessie preferred the bitter old man he’d recently met whose spirit had been broken in grief but who had least still owned his pride.

  ‘The fucktard jockey pushed the mare too early and broke the mare’s spirit. I lost close to twenty-five K on her.’

  Jessie’s belly sank to his toes. How much money had the Jessie in this dimension sank into his dear old dad’s gambling addiction? In his own dimension he knew how to make money, not give it away to relatives ready to suck his bank balance dry.

  ‘How much do you want from me this time?’ he asked flatly.

  His dad’s voice dropped further, his words desperate. ‘Whatever you can spare. Fifty grand will set me up for months—’

  ‘No.’

  Silence hummed down the phone before, ‘What?’ exploded in his ear.

  ‘The only finance you’ll get from me from now on is when you get help for your gambling addiction.’

  The voice on the end of the line dripped with venom. ‘You fucking little cunt, you won’t—’

  Jessie disconnected, cutting out whatever his dear old dad had to say. He swiped a hand over his tense brow. This dimension wasn’t half as great as he’d first thought. In fact, his own world was getting better and better by the minute.

  ‘You okay?’ Tara asked gently.

  He nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  Beatrice stepped into the bedroom and retrieved the phone. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but it’s about time you stood up to that freeloading, good-for-nothing money-grabbing father of yours.’ She shrugged. ‘You can’t choose blood. But you can decide when enough is enough.’

  Jessie’s smile felt more like a grimace. ‘Thanks Beatrice.’

  The older woman nodded, her already mellow face softening. ‘We’ve got enough to fret about with this world right now without “loved ones” adding to the worry.’

  Jessie frowned, but before he asked exactly what she meant, Beatrice added, ‘Aldo’s cooking dinner when you’re ready.’

  Tara waited until the housekeeper had left before asking, ‘Your father’s a gambler in this world?’

  He blew out a heavy breath. ‘Big-time, by the sounds of it.’

  She gave him a gentle smile. ‘Then it sounds like a good time to leave and sort out the problems in your own dimension.’ Her smile widened, eyes mischievous and sparkling. ‘But not until after we’ve eaten dinner. My god, Jessie, you’re a chef with your very own personal chef!’

  Jessie watched her leave the room, no doubt to witness the culinary magic happening in his kitchen. He shook his head and ran an outspread hand over the smile creasing his face. He swung out of bed. Even under the most trying of circumstances, he could count on Tara to lighten his mood.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jessie pulled up a stool at the kitchen counter next to Tara, watching her as she watched the chef. She was unabashedly passionate about food, her enthusiasm making him remember just how much he’d loved cooking. When his mother had turned to alcohol in her grief, he’d instead tuned into his inner culinary genius.

  He’d bought the cheapest and freshest produce available and devised the tastiest recipes. Trialling affordable but delicious and healthy takeout on his friends had soon extended to the neighbourhood and then further afield. He’d worked his way up from his mother’s own kitchen to where he was today.

  But it might all be for nothing if he couldn’t find his way back to his own dimension, and in the process save Lolita.

  But this once he didn’t want to rush. Aside from when they made love, he’d never seen Tara so happy and full of life.

  She forked a mouthful of the fennel, orange and rocket salad with its citrus dressing, her eyes closing as though filtering out all other senses but her taste. ‘Just gorgeous,’ she murmured.

  The balding Italian chef sent Jessie a wicked grin and a wink. ‘I’ll say.’ He slid a fully laden plate across the counter towards them. Brandied wagyu rump roast, green beans, young potatoes and a side of horseradish cream. ‘To share,’ he announced.

  Tara fed Jessie a mouthful, and he gave the chef a thumb’s up at the tender meat that dissolved in his mouth. ‘Thanks Aldo, you haven’t lost your touch.’

  The chef grinned as he watched them, a gleam in his eyes. ‘And you certainly haven’t lost yours.’

  Tara politely declined dessert and Jessie knew it was because she didn’t want to waste any more time, even before she said, ‘We should probably get going again.’

  Beatrice was tidying up the last of the dishes and looked up to ask, ‘Are you going back to the Brisbane restaurant?’

  Jessie nodded. ‘Yes. We’ll get there soon enough.’

  It wasn’t a lie, more a cryptic answer. One of their selves would get to the restaurant, just not the Jessie and Tara who Beatrice was talking to right then.

  Ten minutes later he was helping Tara into the passenger seat of the Hummer before he took to the driver’s side. He cast a quick look into the rear of the vehicle, checking the backpack was stashed where they’d left it. Then he reached for Tara’s hand and gave a squeeze. ‘Here we go again.’

  As the lights of Sydney faded in the rear-view mirror, Tara said softly, ‘This dimension wouldn’t have been half bad if your sister had been here too.’

  And my father wasn’t a gambling addict.

  Jessie nodded. ‘In many ways, this was the world I already lived in. Except without Lolita, the bad far outweighs the good.’

  Tara touched his arm. ‘Life is pretty empty without the people you love in it.’

  He glanced at her, aware her statement had revealed more than she’d probably intended. ‘You’re worried about your mother back in your dimension?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about her a lot. Silly, in many ways, when she doesn’t even remember who I am.’

  Jessie ached for her. ‘In other dimensions she probably does.’

  Tara’s profile flashed under a set of streetlights that illuminated a major intersection of the highway. She turned to him. ‘When you find your dimension, do you think I might have a relationship with my mother?’

  He chose his words carefully. Being positive was one thing, but filling her head with false hope was another. ‘Maybe.’ He shrugged. ‘We both know anything is possible.’r />
  ‘God, Jessie, if that was true I might get back my mother without her memory loss.’

  The idea wasn’t unreasonable. If Tara really did choose to stay with him in his world—and he sure as shit hoped she would—there was a good chance she’d get back her mother whose intellect was still sharp and memories intact.

  Tara lapsed into contemplative silence as she stared out the windshield, and Jessie began to feel tired as the lines ahead whizzed past, one after another after another. Then Tara abruptly quipped, ‘Time to lighten the mood,’ before she leaned forward and turned on the radio.

  A newscaster’s voice filled the SUV. Prime Minister Turnbull is in urgent talks with President O’Sheandha after yet another barrage of threats to our country.

  Tara snapped the radio off. ‘What the fuck?’ she whispered. ‘That’s two dimensions now we’ve heard of this man and his threats.’

  Jessie ignored the nausea in the pit of his belly. Beatrice had said something about there being enough to fret about in this world. Least he fully understood now what she’d meant. He blew out a slow breath. ‘Yes, except in this dimension it sounds as though he’s targeting Australia, not the entire Western world.’ He stroked his chin. ‘As far as I’m aware, he’s not a president in my dimension.’

  ‘Thank god,’ she said. ‘At least we might be safe there.’

  ‘And my sister too, with any luck,’ he added.

  It was a solemn drive, digesting the news they’d heard. Jessie struggled to come to terms with everything that had happened to him over the last—what?—eight or nine days?

  How had so much happened in such a short space of time? Bad enough that his own life was affected, but that of his whole country too?

  He pulled into a service station to refuel and take a break. And though half a dozen other customers appeared to be just going about their day, there was wariness behind their eyes and a telling tension in the air, as though everyone was on edge and readying for the worst.